Chapter 13 #2
He settled onto the grass near her log, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. The firelight flickered between them, painting gold along her tangled hair.
“Yer servant awaits further orders,” he murmured.
She leaned slightly toward him. “Stay,” she said simply.
And this time, he obeyed without jest.
Ian rose from the log and crossed to the horse, the leather of the saddle creaking as he tugged free a worn satchel.
He felt Arianna’s gaze upon him as he rummaged within, drawing out a small loaf of brown bread and a wedge of sharp cheese wrapped in cloth.
He returned to her side and settled close enough that their shoulders brushed, the warmth of her seeping through the wool of his plaid.
“A humble morsel for a Lady,” he said lightly, breaking the bread in two and offering her the larger portion.
“Indeed,” Arianna replied, though her eyes sparkled as she accepted it. “See that ye daenae starve me, servant, else I shall complain of yer negligence.”
Ian huffed a quiet laugh and sliced the cheese with his dirk, placing a thick piece atop her bread before tending to his own. “Daenae eat much of it,” he warned gently, “save yer appetite, for I mean to make ye a proper meal afore the night is done.”
She raised a brow, her lips curving as she chewed. “Is that so, Ian? Ye think yerself capable of such finery?”
He leaned back upon his hands and regarded her with mock offense. “Capable? Lady McGuire, ye wound me. I’ve fed men on battlefields with naught but smoke and stubbornness to season the pot.”
“Then I cannae wait to see what ye conjure with trees and air,” she teased. “I shall sit here and judge ye most harshly.”
He rose with exaggerated obedience and bowed low before her. “Then I best get to work, lest I suffer the wrath of me Lady.”
Ian moved about the clearing with steady purpose, gathering stones for cooking near the fire he had already kindled.
The flames licked upward now, casting amber light upon Arianna’s face as the sun dipped lower beyond the trees.
From the satchel, he drew a small pouch of oats, strips of salted fish, a handful of onions, and sprigs of thyme wrapped in linen.
He fetched his iron pot and filled it with water from the brook, setting it carefully over the fire.
Arianna watched him with open curiosity, her injured ankle propped upon the log. “What sorcery is this?” she called. “Porridge and fish? Ye mean to feed me soldier’s fare.”
Ian glanced over his shoulder, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Aye, soldiers’ fare kept many a man alive, and it shall keep ye well too.”
He sliced the salted fish into small pieces and cast them into the pot, the scent rising at once. In went the onions, chopped fine, and the thyme crushed between his fingers before he dropped them in.
“The secret,” he said as he stirred with a wooden spoon, “is patience, and a steady hand.” Arianna laughed softly. “I would never have thought ye possessed either.”
“Ye wound me twice in one evening,” he replied, though his tone was warm. He poured in a measure of oats, letting them thicken the broth into a hearty stew.
He withdrew slabs of salted bacon from the bag and placed them on the hot stones. It sizzled instantly.
The flames crackled, and sparks leapt toward the darkening sky as the first stars began to prick through the fading blue. He crouched beside the pot and poured a bit of whisky into the fish stew. Then he tested it with the spoon before nodding to himself in satisfaction.
He unrolled a thick blanket and bedroll near the log.
“We'll sit on the ground and use the log as a table,” he said.
“Alright, let me…” she said as she shifted in an attempt to move.
But Ian was faster and lifted her up into his arms and placed her on the blanket before the log.
“Come then, Lady McGuire,” he said at last. “Yer supper awaits.”
He carried the pot carefully and ladled the steaming mixture into two wooden bowls set on top of the log, handing one to her. Then he set the slabs of bacon curled into the side of the bowl. He then sat himself once more at her side.
The scent was rich and savory, simple yet comforting, and it curled through the cool evening air like an invitation.
Arianna took a tentative bite, then another, and her eyes widened despite herself.
“Ian,” she said slowly, “this is nae half bad.”
He feigned outrage. “Nae half bad? I shall have ye know this stew has marched across the Highlands and back.”
She shook her head, smiling as she swallowed. “I tease. I am impressed, truly. I didnae ken ye had such skill. It is delicious.”
He ate with quiet contentment for a moment before answering. “I’ve cooked meals like this over many a battlefield,” he said. “When the men were cold and weary, a warm pot did more for their spirits than any rousing speech.”
Arianna studied him, the firelight dancing across her features. “Ye cared for them,” she said gently.
“Aye,” he admitted. “A laird must care for his men, else he is nae laird at all.” He glanced at her then, and something unspoken passed between them in the hush of the clearing. “And I care for those under me protection,” he added quietly.
She lowered her gaze to her bowl, though her smile lingered. “Then I am fortunate indeed, am I nae?”
He reached for the bread once more and tore off a piece, dipping it into his stew.
“Fortunate? Nay, it is I who am fortunate to have such a demanding Lady to serve.”
She laughed at that, the sound light and free beneath the darkening sky. “If this is the standard of yer service, I may keep ye on permanent duty.”
He leaned closer, lowering his voice in playful warning. “Careful, me Lady. A servant such as I may grow accustomed to such company.”
They finished their meal slowly, savoring both the food and the quiet companionship.
The sun sank fully beyond the trees, leaving the clearing bathed in twilight and firelight.
Crickets began their soft chorus, and the scent of woodsmoke clung to the air around them.
Ian gathered the bowls and set them aside, his shoulder brushing hers once more as he did.
“Well?” he asked at last. “Have I pleased ye?”
Arianna met his gaze, her eyes reflecting the flames. “Aye, Ian,” she said softly. “Ye have.”
She’s happy to see me as a servant, but will she ever truly accept me as her husband and provide heirs?